


desires are what can most easily ruin us

by leapylion3



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Arranged Marriage, Childhood Friends, Drabble Collection, Eloping, F/M, First Love, Forbidden Love, Future Fic, Gift Fic, Happy Ending, Love Triangles, Mild Sexual Content, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Queen Daenerys, Secret Relationship, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leapylion3/pseuds/leapylion3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>History repeats itself with a vengeance, with reversed roles. Arya is betrothed to Aegon, but she is in love with Gendry, the legitimized Lord of Dragonstone, who is to marry Sansa. Arya and Gendry elope, and Queen Daenerys is furious. Will Arya's fate be happier than her aunt Lyanna's?</p>
            </blockquote>





	desires are what can most easily ruin us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rumaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumaan/gifts).



> Written for rumaan_1 on livejournal, with the prompt: _History repeats itself with a vengeance, just with roles reversed. Arya Stark is betrothed to Aegon Targaryen, but she is in love with the Baratheon bastard, Gendry Waters. They elope, and banners are called. Will her fate be happier than her aunt Lyanna's?_
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this! got_exchange is always so wonderfully organized and put together; it's an absolute joy to be a part of it.

_“Where is your sister?”_

_Sansa giggled. “It wounds me that you think of her while in my arms.” She spun around so that her back was flush against his chest. He blushed deeply, but tightened his grip on her waist. “She’ll make an appearance shortly, do not worry. She does not like the dancing part; when the food comes out, Arya will follow.”_

_The music was soft, breathy sighs on the flute, accompanied by a lute’s delicate plucks. Sansa glided over the dance floor, her dress creating a halo under her slender frame. Gendry thought of the stories his mother used to tell him, about angels and mermaids and elves. Sansa was more beautiful than all of those combined, and the secretive smile on her face made him think that she could read his mind; that she_ knew _._

_Sansa Stark was an enigma, but he’d always been drawn to mystery._

* * *

 

Rain pelts down hard on the roof of the inn, matching the steady beating of his heart. It is calm, it is peaceful. But this is only the beginning of the storm; there is more to come. Lightning will strike, and it will bring fire upon them all. He has read this story with Shireen, when she taught him his letters.

He knows how this tale ends.

The lithe body stirs next to him, sighing sleepily. Her snoring stops; her breath comes out in quiet whistles. She does not open her eyes yet, for she has always preferred the darkness. He remembers nights years ago, when he travelled with her and the other recruits; she would be shaking him awake when it was pitch black outside. She was a little girl back then, but she has not changed.

He ducks his head under the covers and nudges her legs apart. He delights in the gasp of surprise he pulls from her, and laughs against her skin. He presses a kiss to her mound; she moans instantly, and cants her hips up towards his mouth.

In that moment, surrounded by her heat, her scent, he could not care less about the storm.

* * *

 

_The night was warm, yet he still found himself trembling. Sansa tried to get him to hold her hand more than once, but he shied away every time; his palms were too clammy for that. The familiar sense of embarrassment coiled in his stomach as he imagined her wrinkling her nose in disgust upon touching his sweaty hands._

_This was all new to him; he’d barely ever spoken to a girl._ No _, a_ woman _. Sansa Stark was the picture of beauty, the definition of grace, the power of a lady._

_She had cooed, asking him to take a walk with her, with a silken voice. He did not have the strength to say no._

_“My sister has spoken highly of you,” she told him._

_“Really?” he blurted out, flabbergasted._

_She laughed, and Gendry could have sworn it was the most wonderful thing he’d ever heard. “Well, it was very nice for_ Arya _.”_

_He plucked a winter rose from the garden; the petals were as blue as her eyes (though not nearly as captivating). He tucked it behind her ear, and quietly claimed her to be the Queen of Love and Beauty. She smiled at him and laced her fingers through his; she did not seem to notice the perspiration. Their lips met halfway a moment later, and he wondered how appropriate it was to kiss a lady on their first encounter, no matter how chaste. She did not protest, though, and he could not see any septas in the near vicinity._

* * *

 

She pushes him away as she is about to come, and kicks off the covers. She is fully exposed to him now, and though he has seen her naked half a hundred times by now, he is still amazed by what is in front of him. Her breasts were small but firm, and high upon her chest. Her curves reveal that she is a woman grown now; any trace of the Arya he once knew is gone. (Except for her eyes, like chips of ice, grey and shining and _taunting_.)

“Close your mouth,” she orders, smirking. “You’ll catch flies otherwise.” He is on his back a moment later, with Arya grinning down at him. His hands are pinned above his head, and all he can do is groan in both frustration and arousal as she grinds down on him.

“Cheeky wench,” he grits out. She laughs loudly and gives him a light slap on the cheek.

“Is that any way to talk to _a princess_?”

* * *

 

_By the time they returned to the hall, everyone was already digging into their meals. Gendry felt like a little boy, sneaking out after his parents had sent him to bed. It was a rush; adrenaline pumped through his veins. He could tell that Sansa was thinking the same thing, if her muffled giggles were anything to go by. He flashed her a quick grin, and squeezed her hand._

_He looked back over his shoulder, to make sure that no one was watching them. His eyes scanned over the crowd, observing all of the guests. It made him sick, really, to know that this many people were attending a party at the expense of the poorer, the servants. He knew was it was like to live in the slums, and would never wish that upon anyone. (The fact that he was not happy for the prince’s engagement was beside the point.)_

_He gasped, locking gazes with a steely grey stare from across the room. He_ knew _them, like the back of his hand. His stomach churned, and he let his hand slide from Sansa’s palm. He was frozen, rooted to the ground. He had been aware that he would see her here, but had not anticipated her to find him with her sister’s kisses on his lips._

 _Arya wore a gown of red and black, to match the prince’s tunic and doublet. Her hair fell in careful ringlets to her shoulders, and he could almost feel them twirling around his finger. He was almost unsure as to whether it_ was _her, but one look at the long, signature Stark face, and he was assured. He just about jumped out of his skin when he saw the snarling direwolf at her feet, under the dais’ table. The wolf shared the same expression as her owner; impassive, but ever threatening._

Never anger a Stark, _he thought._

* * *

 

“We should go,” he says. Still, he pulls her closer to him, breathing in the scent of her. His seed is sticking to her thighs, but she makes no move to clean it. He sighs contentedly.

“I don’t want to go.” She pouts, and in that moment, he realized how Aegon must have felt when he first met her. How could one _possibly_ say no to Arya Stark? She is smart, this one, but Gendry has seen that look before. He knows it well; it is old friend of his now.

Sansa is masterful at it.

“I suppose we can stay a little longer…”

Her grin would suit a wolf much better.

Perhaps it runs in the Stark family, to be so good at getting what they want. (Jon is rather pouty, too, from what Gendry has seen. Only Margaery, his wife and queen, seems to be able to make him smile.)

Or mayhaps Gendry is just too much of a pushover.

* * *

 

_“Wake up.”_

_Gendry very nearly had a heart attack, and bit his lip to hold in a scream. He propelled himself from the bed, landing on the floor with a_ thud _. He panted, trying to regain his breath as he gripped onto the stone tiles. He fumbled for the sword he kept under his bed, but one look at his intruder made him abandon his efforts. He sighed and pushed himself up to his feet, blowing his hair out of his eyes._

_“It’s late,” Uncle Stannis informed him dryly. Gendry took a peek out the window; the sun was just beginning to rise. With a raised brow, he scrutinized Gendry disdainfully. “Put on some clothes.” The younger man was infinitely grateful that he’d kept his smallclothes on when he’d collapsed into bed the night before._

_“Ever heard of knocking?” Gendry muttered, more to himself. He grabbed a pair of breeches lying around and stepped into them._

_“We have to talk.”_

_Gendry shrugged into a loose tunic. “I’m listening.”_

_Stannis clasped behind his back and stood tall, his chin up. Though Gendry and Stannis were not close, the boy still admired his uncle. He would not admit it, but Gendry would rather see Stannis on the throne than Daenerys or Aegon. He supposed that he being the Hand of the Queen was close enough._

_“I’ve made an alliance that will benefit both the North and the South.” Gendry could have sworn there was a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his uncle’s lips. “I saw how you spent the most of the night with her. This will be a good thing.” He paused. “And, well, she’s already very eager about it.”_

_Gendry swallowed thickly._

_“You’re to marry Sansa Stark.”_

* * *

 

“Are you sure he’ll let us in?” Arya asks as she swings up onto her horse. Never did Gendry think he’d ever see the day where the she-wolf was uncertain.

“Why wouldn’t he?” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. There are plenty of reasons why Edric would in fact _refuse_ to let them enter Storm’s End, but Gendry does not want to focus on that. “He’s my brother,” he says a moment later, more seriously. “Family makes sacrifices for one another.” Arya would know all about that.

There is a chance that they’ll be bringing war to Edric’s doorstep, but if Edric is the man Gendry remembers, he will forget that. There has been no news of Aegon rallying his army, no raven, no threats, no whispering smallfolk. Perhaps Aegon is forgiving and understanding, nothing like what Gendry expected.

They will have to wait and see.

“I hope you’re right,” Arya mumbles, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He flashes her a crooked grin. “When have I ever led you astray?”

* * *

 

 _“I can’t believe you agreed to marry her!” Arya screamed, fists flying and beating his chest. “You stupid, bullheaded_ ass _!” Her hair was tumbling out of her neat bun; the loose curls framed her round face perfectly._

_He grabbed both her hands in one of his; she scowled deeply. “What about you marrying Aegon?” he retorted. “Why is that so different?” He had not said one nasty word about the betrothal to any of them, not even to Sansa. He was playing the part of the courteous guest, no matter how difficult it was for him._

_“Because Aegon isn’t your_ brother _!” For a moment, he thought that she would begin to cry. She kicked him in the shin instead, and pushed him to the ground. “You don’t know what she’s been through! You’re just going to hurt her, like all the others.” Her face was a mask of steel, but he saw the slight tremors in her shoulders._

_“I’m not going to hurt her,” he promised, standing up straight. He was a head and a half taller than her, and solemnly looked down on her. “I swear it on my life. Your sister will be safe with me.” He paused, slightly furrowing his brow. “You do trust me, don’t you?”_

_She dashed away with widened eyes, leaving him alone without another word._

* * *

 

“Do you love him?” Gendry finds himself asking, long after she’d seemingly fallen asleep. The rain has not let up, and they had to duck into a cave a few hours after they’d begun their ride. It is to be expected when travelling in Storm’s End, and though he does not mind, Arya is growing impatient. (But Arya is almost always impatient, and if the results are not immediate, she will not want to hear about it. It is oddly adorable, but she would only punch him clean across the face if he said anything of the sort.)

She rolls over onto her side to look at him. There is a smirk tugging at her lips, and he is expecting her to laugh at him. “Are you really asking that question, stupid?” Her eyes sparkle in the darkness. “I wouldn’t run away with you if I loved him, would I?”

“But you agreed to marry him,” he splutters. He holds some love for Sansa, at least. Shouldn’t Arya love the dragon prince? He has seen the way Aegon looks at Arya; there is no denying that he is in love with her. Guilt twists in Gendry’s belly like a knife, and it does not stop until he bites his lip so hard he tastes blood. 

She leans in and pecks him on the cheek. “Go to bed.”

* * *

 

_There was a loud knock at his chambers a week later, shortly after supper had ended. He’d been hoping to have a warm bath and then collapse onto his bed. He was leaving for Dragonstone on the morrow, and he needed as much rest as possible. (Not to mention that he disliked most of the nobles at court, and he did not want to have to deal with their false smiles and empty compliments for a moment longer.)_

_He opened the door, and came face to face with none other than Arya Stark._

_He had barely spoken to her throughout the week, apart from cold courtesies. They would lock eyes from across the courtyard, but she would scurry away before he got the chance to talk to her. Sansa had told him that Arya was like that with everyone, but he found that hard to believe._

_“I don’t want you to marry my sister for another reason,” she admitted quietly, sounding breathless. She was not wearing Targaryen reds and blacks, but the whites and greys of the North. He thought of Arry the orphan boy, Weasel the soup girl, Nymeria the cup-bearer. So many faces and names, most of which she hadn’t even told him. “I came back for you, Gendry. For my family and for Winterfell, but above all, for_ you _.”_

_And suddenly, her lips were on his, soft and sweet yet demanding and bitter all the same._

_His head was swimming, and he hardly knew what was going on. He only realized what was happening when they tumbled onto the bed, most of their clothes discarded on the floor. He asked if she’d done this before, and she only laughed, as if he should know._

_“A lot happened in Braavos,” she said matter-of-factly. She sat on his chest, and despite her sinewy muscle and strong build, it felt like she weighed nothing at all. Her nimble fingers unlaced his breeches, and Gendry helped her tug them off of his hips._

_“Just_ what _happened, exactly?”_

_“Perhaps I’ll tell you one day.”_

* * *

 

Only a month later do they hear any news of war.

They are sitting by the fire in the library, sipping mulled spiced wine and fighting sleep. The door slams open, and they both look up to see Edric stomp over to them. His jaw is clenched tightly, and there is thunder in his eyes. Edric is known to look like Robert, their father, but he has the calm but frightening demeanor of Uncle Stannis. A shudder runs down Gendry’s spine.

He holds out a creased sheet of parchment paper; the wax seal is broken.

Gendry takes it, and though he still sometimes has trouble with the letters, he can understand its message perfectly clear. It is from Queen Daenerys, and he can _hear_ her yelling at him as he reads it. There is ice and fire and _rage_ laced into each marking.

“What does it say?” Arya asks in a hushed whisper.

“She means to bring dragonfire upon us all,” Edric snaps, snatching the paper out of Gendry’s hands. “It is not a threat, but a promise.” His eyes burn holes into Arya’s skull. “And we all know that _she_ is not one to break her oaths.”

* * *

 

_“My lord?” Sansa questioned, a slight crease in her forehead. “Is everything all right?” She reached across the table to cover his hand with her own. “Gendry?”_

_His gaze drifted past her, over her shoulder. Arya was already staring at him from her place on the dais, with darkened eyes and flushed cheeks. He’d not had the heart to leave the next day, not after what had happened the previous night. Sansa was ecstatic with the news, and Arya… Well, she had shown her appreciation in one of the empty halls of the Red Keep._

_“I’ll see you in the morn, Sansa,” he promised, faking a smile. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, then ducked out of the hall. He could hear Arya’s footsteps close behind him; his heart pounded in time with her footfalls._

_“I saw you kiss her,” she accused, picking up her skirts to keep up with the strides of his long legs._

_He pushed her up against the wall, his mouth inches from hers. The shadows covered them, the darkness enveloping the pair. “Run away with me,” he whispered, cupping her cheek. “You don’t want to marry Aegon, I know you don’t.”_

_“And what about Sansa?”_

_He bit his lip and frowned. “I…I’m sure she’ll understand.”_

_She shoved his shoulder roughly. “You promised not to hurt her.”_

_“It would hurt her more if I was married to her, but loved another.”_

_“You’re stupid,” she muttered, but she still let him kiss her._

* * *

 

“There’s a visitor for you in the courtyard, my lord,” a servant tells him the next day.

“I’ll be right down,” Gendry replies, pinning his cloak to his shoulders. “Where is Princess Arya?”

“She is already outside, my lord.”

Gendry makes his way to the courtyard within a matter of minutes. His pulse is racing, and his hands are clammy. He is expecting the worst, is expecting dragonfire and screaming soldiers and clashing blades. He has learnt to never have high expectations, otherwise he will be disappointed. (Shireen calls him a pessimist, but he is just a realist.)

Gendry’s heart stops. A young, silver-haired man is quietly conversing with Arya, his head bowed. There is no one else in the courtyard save for them three, but Gendry knows that Edric is watching from somewhere.

“My lord,” Aegon calls, bowing in respect. Gendry returns the favour, though it is much stiffer. “I was hoping to have a word with you.” He takes a step forward, his hands clasped behind his back. “I believe we have some matters to discuss.”

“So talk,” Gendry grits out, before tacking on a quick, “my prince.”

“I have convinced my aunt to call off her armies. I do not wish to see the Realm bleed again.” He leans in closer to Gendry, and Gendry wishes he could look away from those startling violet eyes. “Both you and I have read the history books; we know what happened the last time two men fought over a woman.” Arya bristles next to Gendry, and he comforts her with a hand on the small of her back.

“What are you getting at?” Gendry asks, dubious.

“Marry Princess Arya, if you wish. I give you my permission.” He raises his hands, as if to show that he does not plan on attacking. “You two love each other deeply; any blind man can see that.” He smiles, though his eyes remain sad.

“What about Sansa?” Arya interjects. “I don’t want her getting hurt in any of this.”

“I will marry her,” Aegon tells her calmly. “There will still be a tie between the Targaryens, Starks and Baratheons.” He lets out a quiet chuckle. “That is, if you will let me marry your sister, Arya. Do I have your blessing?”

“Ask her yourself,” she retorts.

He grins crookedly, a laugh on his lips. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I already have.”     


End file.
